


Fin(ally Yours)

by kaiyak



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentions of Death, Minor Character Death, Morbid, Mystery, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiyak/pseuds/kaiyak
Summary: Jongin had been taught to avoid roses, but they kept bothering him. Not to mention that, for some reason, they still haven't killed him yet.





	Fin(ally Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> When I saw the prompt, I just knew I had to write something about it, and so I hope that you will like it, prompter! This might be a little bit angstier than it was originally supposed to be (sorry TT). Also, a special and huge thank you to the mods! I hope you will have fun reading! (Please note that English is not my mother tongue)

The rain was too loud.  
It was disturbing him, with all its drops thundering against the cracked glass.  
The pages were heavy to lift, because of all the years the book had been transporting on its back. They were all yellow, and for an unknown and intriguing reason, some had been torn off. The cover had lost its colors, now splattered with dirt and other strange substances.  
Still, it was his favorite book.  
Jongin closed his eyes and ruffled his blonde mane, the text vanishing behind the cover of the novel. His digits graced it once again, before he got up and placed it where it was supposed to be, between his other family members. He stretched his body and felt his muscles groan because of the pain.  
His eyes traveled to the glass, where the sky's tears were still attacking his home. He sighed, then turned his head.  
_A shower would be welcomed_ , the tall man thought to himself, the faint murmurs of the temperature being his only answer.  
His toes felt the coldness the ceramic floor was emitting and he shivered, the baby hair on his nape standing up excitedly.  
When the warm water hit his shoulders and his scarred back, he exhaled tiredly, flashes of an empty future bringing him back to the reality of this world.  
Jongdae had found many petals in his apartment, and the thought would not stop bothering him since the last three days.  
Jongin was still busy thinking when the fluid suddenly stopped hitting him and the light above him flickered before rendering the room entirely dark.  
He lifted his head and saw the last sparks of light fade before him.  
Great. They had cut electricity and water again. 

 

The city had not changed that much, if he was being honest.  
The only thing which had been modified was the number of bodies littering the streets. It had increased.  
And the withered roses, but that was no surprise.  
"How many did you find yesterday?"  
Jongdae sighed again and hung his head low, a mumble escaping his lips.  
"About twenty."  
Jongin could sense the fear radiating from his comrade. He tapped his shoulder in a friendly way, putting a nervous smile on his expressionless face.  
"You will be alri-"  
"You know they are never wrong. As soon as you see rose petals swirling around you, it will come fetch you, and you will never grace the Earth ever again," said Jongdae, his voice trembling. "I already contacted my doctor. I'm pretty lucky, though. I'm still here."  
_For now_.  
Jongin shook his head, not trusting his childhood friend.  
But he knew better than anyone.  
It was hopeless. _They_ were hopeless. 

 

Jongdae died the day after their conversation.  
The driver was drunk, they affirmed. Mentally deranged, even. Jongdae had not checked before crossing the street, they told him.  
The roses and the blood mixed together under Jongdae's body were still tainting the white bars which had been painted on the street, creating an artwork that would forever haunt Jongin in his nightmares.  
He touched the gravestone, sadness flowing in his blood stream.  
"Take care, Dae."  
His cheeks had been flooded with tears. 

 

The words written in ink had almost perished because of time, the hangul letters disappearing behind puffs of dust and spider webs. Jongin touched the surface, his fingertips caressing the material with utmost care.  
_The one whose lips will come in contact with Death’s will be the chosen one_.  
Jongin smiled.  
_They will never be separated in any case_.  
_No matter what_.  
The young boy looked up dreamily, legends and myths from the past crawling up on his arms, the happily ever after stories making him quiver slightly.  
The fire was lighting up his apartment, the red bricks on the wall shining near him. He closed the book (not after having petted it for a few more seconds) and looked out the window, the stars wishing him sweet dreams.  
“Good night, Dae,” he whispered faintly.  
His pillow seemed a bit softer than usual against his neck. 

 

Speculations and theories about Death being an actual person had only landed in people's ears a century ago, the roses being the culprit.  
Death had supposedly taken a liking to them, wanting to offer them to his targets before they would meet their end.  
No one had a reason to come close to that mysterious flower. People stayed away from it. It brought Death, announced Death.  
Jongdae had been a victim, like many, many others. Like thousands.  
Every cause was possible. Fire, suicide, accident. Anything, just for Death's own pleasure of creating morbid masterpieces.  
But Jongin was not stupid.  
How could a person, an entity, kill that much? 

 

He was flipping another page of that same book when he heard about the commotion.  
Shouts and desperate cries were jumping everywhere in the atmosphere, deconcentrating him mercilessly.  
He carefully put the book on the shelf, then picked up his coat before putting it on, fleeing away from his place of living.  
The stairs were still slippery, as no one had cleaned up the mess from all those weeks ago, when the rain had decided to invade the complex.  
Everybody had died a long time ago, leaving Jongin alone. And Jongin had other stuff to do than clean someone else's mess.  
Like reading.  
The fresh air from outside greeted him merrily, some delicious perfumes entering his nostrils and awakening his stomach.  
The tanned male ran towards the crowd, nervously praying with fervent hope.  
Children were running around, showing proudly their new snacks. They always were the lucky ones, just because of their age and their lack of maturity.  
_Unfair_ , grumbled Jongin internally.  
He pushed some men out of his way and finally saw the middle-aged woman behind the temporary counter, sweat dripping on her forehead.  
_Rice bowls only for ₩27,000!_ , was written on the banner above her head.  
His hand instinctively reached his pocket and took a bill of ₩50,000 before slapping it against the counter made of cardboard, impatience and hunger rushing freely in his veins.  
The old woman smiled with crooked teeth before presenting him a bowl made of plastic, filled with white and pure rice grains. She rummaged for some money in her apron and dropped the coins and pieces of paper in Jongin's awaiting palm. He bowed, sighed, then escaped the scene, the other customers begging to have a bowl, just like him.  
Seated at his table a few minutes later, his coat still on his back, he chewed on the food happily, the normal and common dish being well accepted by his tired organism.  
What was the purpose of having a fridge if no food would stay in it?  
Since so much people had stopped living, the economy had failed greatly in the last ten years, leaving the population starving daily.  
Jongin eyed the plants growing near his window, still munching on the hot rice.  
_Soon, I'll be able to eat tomatoes and begonias_.  
After all, maybe there _was_ hope.  
He made sure to give them both precious water after his meal. 

 

It was probably one of the worst storms they had in the last three months, but the army had assured the water was totally drinkable.  
Not a single trace of poison was diluted in the rainfall, meaning it was absolutely safe.  
That surely explained why everybody was running in the streets, two, maybe even three plastic buckets caged between their arms.  
Collecting the source of life by themselves.  
Jongin was no exception. He had a small bowl made of metal between his frigid hands indeed, but running?  
Wandering around, yes. Running was out of the question. He needed to save his energy and think wisely.  
The boy was completely soaked, but at least, there was free and clean water falling from the sky, creating a melodious harmony against the cold material his fingers were brushing.  
He lifted his head, then saw him.  
The guy was probably a bit older than him, and seemed manlier too, his strong chest trapped in his white buttoned shirt which was half covered by his gray tuxedo jacket. His short and twilight-colored strands were sticking to his forehead, drops of water cascading on his facial traits.  
Jongin was simply mesmerized.  
Their eyes established a contact, and the sun-kissed man gasped audibly, the stranger's heart-shaped lips enthralling him.  
He left the place the next instant.  
Some water dropped from his bucket because of his rush.  
_How rich was he to wear a suit_? 

 

It smelled incredibly good.  
He pushed his nose against the comforter, inhaling the intoxicating perfume that was twirling around the fluffy material.  
Freshness, everywhere in the tiny room.  
Jongin got up swiftly, a content smile plastered on his plump lips. The boy got closer to the only window his apartment was gifting him, a prototype of a watering can in his tanned hands.  
The tomatoes were pretty.  
Shiny, shiny red and round.  
But not mature enough to eat without any problem.  
He moved the tool towards the pot and watered the earth, the fluid being gulped down by the eager roots.  
The sun rays hit his thin face and he sighed in relief, knowing the exterior was waiting for his presence patiently.  
He watered the begonias next and soon after felt hunger resurface, his left hand unconsciously patting his belly.  
The remaining trees were calling, their chants so powerful Jongin crossed the room still in pyjamas and opened the door with frenzy, hurtling down the wet stairs.  
The wind smelt a bit...too lively.  
Eyes closed, the young man felt it enter him, passing through his every organ.  
When his irises assimilated that a field of roses had grown in front of the apartment complex, Jongin shuddered, shivers creepily climbing on his body.  
_I'm next_.  
Roses, everywhere.  
He fell on his knees, scars on his skin, tears welling and getting evaporated moments later.  
With foreign rage, he tore every flower which was under his nails, scarlet petals whirling in the atmosphere surrounding him.  
He mumbled to himself then yelled in despair, feeling his life already giving up on him.  
Becoming easily tired because of the lack of energy, Jongin looked around, his heart and knees bleeding, having been scratched by evil thorns. At least a hundred more roses had been untouched, breathing peacefully, _living_.  
Drained, the dying one plucked one rose from the earth and smelled it, now knowing where this paralyzing aroma was coming from.  
He kept the vegetal being close to his heart and returned back to his room sloppily, shoulders hunched, the thorns having pricked his index finger.  
He examined the flower once more, and felt his stomach angrily shoot insults at him.  
Not caring about anything anymore, he pushed the entire flower down his throat, feeling the bizarre structures stretching his throat. The feeling was good.  
Better than Death.  
The petals were soft like clouds and the thorns were making his tongue bleed, his teeth crunching on the stem eagerly.  
A bead of vital liquid ran down his chin. 

 

_He ate me_. 

 

The rain was clearing his bad thoughts away and cleaning his destroyed insides.  
Without a hood to protect his hair, Jongin walked aimlessly, downtown Seoul.  
The Cheonggyecheon stream was mocking him, the almost inexistent watercourse being filled with red.  
The buildings around his narrowed frame were slowly collapsing into time, walls on the ground.  
And even if his arms and face were not protected, the _plic ploc_ sounds were refreshing enough to his ears.  
He looked if any store was open, but the rain was scaring everyone these days, and no lights were shining in town.  
That's why his heart stopped assailing his crown of white bones when he saw someone, a man, sitting straight on a bench.  
Curious, Jongin went toward the person, his toes frozen in his old and wrenched shoes.  
The guy noticed him, his sharp pupils flooding Jongin in.  
Again, the suit and tie.  
It was the same man as the other day, the one with eyes and hair as dark as the end of a black hole.  
The taller gulped, butterflies swimming in his abdomen.  
"Hey," he enunciated, his cheeks becoming red, like roses.  
But the other's lips did not move.  
"Isn't the rain bothering you? This one is pretty toxic, they said," Jongin pursued, his throat getting tight, remains of petals making their way through his oesophagus.  
He sat down beside the stranger, his eyes weeping.  
"You should not be out there..."  
He felt fire sting on his forehead and forearms, spreading easily on his naked skin.  
The thorns trapped under his tongue were making him want to vomit.  
A swift movement captured his attention and before he knew it, delicate fabric was enfolding his shaking shoulders.  
" _You_ should not be out there," the foreigner finally spoke, letting his rusty vocal chords collide.  
His jacket smelled syrupy against Jongin's neck.  
Like candies.  
And his voice; deep and melting, like caramel.  
Jongin blushed. 

 

They say following strangers is a big no-no.  
_What if that person kidnaps you? Kills you?_  
But Jongin was dying already.  
The alcohol on his practically dead flesh itched and he bit his tongue to supress his hiss, his hand gripping the other male's wrist with force.  
"Rain is harmful," the latter stated, staring at Jongin with his furrowed brows, a worried look swimming in his irises.  
"Sometimes, it is not," Jongin stupidly retorted, praying mentally for his heart to stop beating erratically.  
The nameless man put a beige plaster on Jongin's forehead and silently stood up, turning the lights off.  
Jongin felt his nose twitch.  
"What is your name?" he inquired, his hands putting the comfy blanket up.  
He fell asleep before even hearing the response to his question, lightly snoring.  
He had forgotten about misery.  
About alabaster and pristine white skin, without a trace of bruises.  
"Kyungsoo," his savior muttered, still swallowed by the surrounding obscurity.  
That night, Jongin dreamed of blank spaces. 

 

"Soup," Jongin pronounced, bewildered.  
The cotton balls were covering his burns, dried blood and pus accumulating on his arms, some scars already formed on his Adam's apple.  
"Yes. Do you not like it?" Kyungsoo asked, placing a fuming porcelain bowl in both of his awaiting hands, the metal spoon clinking against the ceramic.  
"I don't quite remember how it tastes like, to be frank," he confessed, casting his eyes down with shame.  
"Eat."  
Jongin timidly took a sip, the explosion of savors erasing the flower's tasteless and cold trace. He finished the meal in less than a few minutes, gulping on the beverage with greed.  
"Thank you," he whispered gratefully, putting the bowl on the nightstand.  
Kyungsoo nodded with sealed lips, now seated on the bed, near Jongin's legs.  
"We need to disinfect these again," he exclaimed monotonously, gazing at the puffs of cotton.  
He opened a drawer and got a first aid kit out, carefully dabbing on the red spots.  
Jongin faintly whined from the pain, but Kyungsoo soothed him by applying cool cream and covering everything with fresh bandages.  
"I need to water them," the injured male abruptly spoke up, his voice cracking, "or they will die."  
"They won't."  
Jongin scrutinized Kyungsoo, incredulous.  
_What_? 

 

Kyungsoo was definitely weird in Jongin's perspective.  
For starters, he didn't even have a bookshelf in any of his home's (reachable) rooms. Not even a single book.  
No sign of plants either.  
The place was plain; walls as white as snow, the atmosphere as cold as ice. No decorations either.  
Pens scattered on the floor, cupboards left wide opened, candles lightened, endless staircases and many locked doors.  
But Jongin knew without a single doubt that he was presently in a penthouse of some sort. There were at least three floors (and probably even more considering Kyungsoo seemed to like hiding things).  
Everything about him screamed bizarre.  
( _Not to mention that food seemed to appear out of nowhere_.)  
Secrets were hushed around him, but he couldn't decipher their meaning.  
He was trapped in this maze of mysteries. 

 

It had been three days, two nights.  
Kyungsoo wouldn't let him leave his castle.  
_Not until you are fully recovered_ , would he always declare with a strict tone, as if he was not able to feel emotions.  
And Jongin would stand there, between walls that would repeat his host's words, stick their tongue out and tease him.  
He huffed against the cushions, cowering into a fetal position under the heavy blanket.  
He missed his novels.  
He would often pray for his plants, praying that they were still growing, that Death had not destroyed them with its merciless power yet.  
Then the young male would always think about his own destiny and lose faith.  
_Why are they so important? It's a matter of time. Time is ticking._  
Jongin looked through the glass and saw a single star dance on the navy canvas that was the sky.  
He grinned like an idiot. Stars were rare. They meant luck.  
"Jongin?"  
He snapped his neck to the left, goosebumps electrifying his nerves.  
Kyungsoo was gazing at him with his doe eyes, an obsidian tie around his neck.  
"You should drink a little, or you will get dehydrated," he clarified.  
He accepted the teacup and brought it to his lips, Kyungsoo fading away from his sight.  
He took a sip and put the teacup on the table close to the couch, his throat dry.  
The water didn't taste anything, nor seemed poisonous, but for some reason, it was not thirst-quenching enough.  
Thus, Jongin went to sleep contently, the echo of his name on Kyungsoo's heart-shaped lips.  
_The rose petal waltzing alone in the cup_. 

 

The drizzle was annoying him.  
The fingers playing with his, too.  
When he acknowledged Kyungsoo's presence, Jongin felt like squealing.  
He looked almost... _fragile_ , seated on the wooden floor, his head close to Jongin's thigh.  
"I have to treat them," Kyungsoo babbled lowly, his fingertip tracing the bruise on Jongin's palm.  
Lightning lit up the room, thunder roaring just after.  
Kyungsoo got up from his position, still wearing his unusual outfit, unaware of Jongin's state.  
Unaware of how tightly his eyes were closed, how uneven his breathing was. 

 

The street lamps were blurred by dust, and the concrete was hard under his feet.  
But _vitality_ was omnipresent inside him, pulsing in every of his muscles.  
Dashing around, outside, the wind howling at him, cheering him up.  
Kyungsoo was gone.  
_Or maybe he had hidden himself behind one of his many locked doors, who knew_?  
Jongin, with healed wounds, had tip-toed toward the entrance, finding it peculiarly unlocked.  
Freedom was so good, he needed to taste it even more.  
He stopped his actions once he registered thorns of roses on the sidewalk.  
Without remorse, he crushed them with his feet, frustration boiling in his veins, then continued his race toward his apartment.  
Toward normality.  
_Thank you.  
Why_? 

 

_Why_? 

 

_Due to unsuccessful crops, all markets will be shut down for a few days_.  
Multiple signs carrying the simple message were decorating Seoul, frightening the citizens.  
Jongin was too absorbed in his new treasure to care, the powerful story being too interesting to ignore.  
He squinted his eyes, the peculiar drops staining the paper bothering his vision.  
_Blood_?  
When he closed the book, rose petals slapped his face, tumbling ungracefully on the carpet.  
Jongin touched his reddened cheek, dumbfounded.  
He automatically looked at his vegetables, the tomatoes and begonias bowing their stems to welcome the sun rays. 

 

"Why do I feel like you're following me?" Jongin spat with lack of energy.  
"Why should I?"  
Kyungsoo's responses were always so brief and straightforward it amazed him.  
He faced him with clenched fists.  
"Thank you. For last time, I mean."  
"Jongin, you are clearly hungry and cold--"  
"How? How did you find me?"  
Then everything made even less sense.  
_How do you know my name? Why did you want to see me again_?  
"Because I care."  
_About you_.  
The hand against his was oddly warm, even though Kyungsoo's personality was far from it.  
He got lost into the elder's orbs again, falling deeper and deeper.  
"Okay." 

 

Maybe he felt bad about last week's incident. Maybe he was lonely and wanted company.  
But Kyungsoo was still an enigma to him.  
Jongin was inexplicably attracted, the secrets stalking him from behind.  
He had started by cleaning the whole residence, closing all the cupboards, picking up the pens, and leaving them on the counter, close to the broken plates. He even had threatened Kyungsoo, saying that he would not come if he could not bring his plants and a few books ( _to which the other male had blinked_ ). And so they were resting in the living room near the couch, on the windowsill, a forgotten glass of water next to them.  
"Kyungsoo?" Jongin called, checking from left to right before finding him in the corridor. "Kyungsoo?"  
"Hm?" Kyungsoo hushed, tilting his head.  
"May I ask you a few things?"  
Kyungsoo scrunched up his nose, his round glasses sliding on it further more.  
"I might not respond to them all."  
His monotone voice was back, making Jongin flush.  
He moved forward, joining the other man by sitting on the floor and clearing his throat, pulling on his long sleeves with slight anxiety.  
"Do you like it?" The tanned boy inquired, his fingers brushing the hard cover that was taking position on Kyungsoo's lap.  
"I don't quite understand the plot, but I guess I could honestly say it is intriguing."  
The younger exhaled calmly, his blonde bangs camouflaging his irises.  
"Words are truly hard to interpret, sometimes."  
Kyungsoo stroked Jongin's hair, his eyes meeting the latter's, filled with surprise. Jongin felt his face heat up.  
"You, too," he breathed. 

 

_Do you always wear that? Do you even sleep? Do you eat proper meals? Were you always that reticent? Do you work somewhere?  
How are you?_

 

The atmosphere was even more chilly than usual, even if Kyungsoo's (minuscule) sweater was covering his torso, socks caging his feet.  
Because Kyungsoo was not home. Again.  
Jongin felt the material bellow his digits, halting his action with insecurity. He finally found the light switch.  
But regretted it.  
"What the heck..."  
The basement was horrific and terrifying.  
Tons of scribbles were garnishing the four walls, letters mixing with scratches of ink. Jongin swallowed his saliva with difficulty, the words pasted on the ground, till the ceiling.  
He got closer to take a look, fear clinging to him.  
_Names_?  
A single pen in pieces was in the left corner. 

 

Whenever Kyungsoo would put a dish on the circular dining table, Jongin would always eat right away, then wonder,  
"Arent' you eating?"  
But Kyungsoo would always push the teacup and return to one of Jongin's texts.  
"Drink," he reiterated.  
Jongin obliged, downing everything in a few seconds.  
_Not perceiving the roses growing under the table's legs_. 

 

"Why won't I die already?" Jongin sobbed.  
Kyungsoo cuddled him on the bed, wiping his tears.  
Exhausted, the avid reader soon fell unconscious, rendered speechless.  
Tremors were still controlling his body, even though Kyungsoo was hugging him, shielding him from every possible harm.  
"Not yet."  
Blood had been splashed on his pale hands. 

 

"You are awfully clingy," Kyungsoo amusedly complained, softly rubbing Jongin's back.  
"I'm scared," the other revealed, getting closer to the elder.  
"There is no need to be scared. I'm here, Jongin."  
The rain was violent outside, ravaging everything with its furious drops. The past few days had been hard. Yes, they had food. Yes, they had water. They even had protection. But still, Jongin was not comprehending the situation per se. Every time Kyungsoo would disappear, he would realize how much of a hero the strange boy was to him, and he would feel his heart bleed.  
Death was toying with him.  
The end was near, yet far as well.  
To distract him, Kyungsoo began humming a tune, still touching Jongin in a way to comfort him.  
Bewildered, Jongin glanced in his direction, pausing his movements.  
He let his eyelashes flutter and listened carefully, Kyungsoo's singing hypnotizing him. When Kyungsoo finished a moment later, Jongin looked at him and got lost in his onyx-tinted eyes.  
"That was beautiful," he blurted, somewhat confused.  
Kyungsoo stared at the pile of rose petals that were on Jongin's hair, beaming.  
"You are."  
He bent his head and felt his lips collide with Jongin's honeyed flesh, his butterfly kiss landing on the tanner male's cheek. 

 

The tomatoes and begonias were no longer alive, even if the pots and roots were still there.  
Boys and girls were bouncing in the streets, as if all the previous pain and agony had ceased to exist. Parents were reprimanding their children, vendors were hollering on top of their lungs, the smell of food tempting everyone.  
Jongin bought his second bowl of rice of the day and hopped happily, the kids making him giggle.  
He stopped in his tracks when he saw Kyungsoo a few meters ahead of him, walking towards an elderly woman.  
"Oh?"  
He didn't know Kyungsoo was in town on the days he was not home.  
He got behind a stand and peeked, indiscreet.  
Kyungsoo went past the woman and stood in front of her, getting something out of his suit's pocket before letting it fall before her.  
The latter collapsed, breathing heavily. Kyungsoo turned his back and walked forward, not even caring about what he had provoked just now.  
People circled the woman, worried.  
A boy picked the object and showed it to everyone.  
"A rose! A rose!"  
Jongin felt his world crumble, settling down on his knees, tears rolling down his face. 

 

"Kyungsoo," he snapped with venom.  
The name echoed everywhere, Jongin's anger spicing his voice.  
"Kyungsoo."  
He tried opening a few doors before giving up, running in different hallways and sensing the secrets divulging their true identities.  
"Kyungsoo."  
"Here."  
He ran in the stairs, chasing after Kyungsoo's voice. Another hallway unfolded itself before him, with all those white doors shutting themselves. He was there.  
At the end. In front of an unclosed door.  
The sweet and mind-blowing perfume came in his nostrils again, and Jongin had the sudden want to embrace it fully.  
"You insulted that person. How could you give her a rose?" He fulminated, his vital muscle on the edge of exploding beside his bones. " _How could you_?!"  
Kyungsoo turned around, his shoulders lifted.  
Not a single remnant of doubt shown on his broken mask.  
"Jongin. They can't see me."  
" _Then why can I_?!"  
He came face to face with him, his cheeks and chin wet.  
Kyungsoo hugged him, even if he was fighting against the gesture, cries escaping his throat.  
When he finally saw what was behind the door, he became still, his hands gripping tightly Kyungsoo's shoulders.  
"It's pretty, right?"  
Jongin mutely moved his head up and down, responding to Kyungsoo's hold by putting his hands around his neck.  
_The garden full of billions of roses was very pretty_. 

 

Kyungsoo had explained everything without any rush, respecting Jongin's reactions while trying to silence him by pressing his lips against his skin. Roses had become an obsession, an unhealthy obsession. He couldn’t help it. It was for the best.  
"W-What about Jongdae?"  
"If I had not killed him that day, he would have suffered the next twenty years of his life before shooting himself."  
To that, Jongin had burst in tears, even if he was happy.  
He had understood Kyungsoo's motives. He was killing them before everything would go down, before sufferance would eat them alive. He preferred warning them in advance, to let them assimilate their fate.  
"Then... Why _me_?"  
"I have been waiting for you since Life has been conceived. You are the one."  
All those unattainable rooms were containing other names. Only names. Of every one of those who had passed away.  
Because Kyungsoo was _Death_.  
And Jongin was _his_. 

 

Since then, Kyungsoo's disappearances weren't as suspicious anymore. He would often wear joggings (it was so much more comfy than boring pants) and Jongin's tee-shirts. They now had their daily reading sessions, daily walks, and Death had even tried eating for the first time of his _life_. They were good, just like that, with baby tomatoes, begonias, and endless amounts of roses in their quiet apartment.  
"I'm dating Death," Jongin wailed childishly, stretching his arms on the floor.  
Kyungsoo sarcastically groaned then hopped on top of him playfully, the air turning a bit warmer.  
"Lovingly, caring Death," he added, his lips molded into a pout.  
That's when they kissed for the first time. 

 

"Please don't make me live till I'm one hundred years old."  
"Why not?"  
"I won't be as sexy as I am now. Do you really want to look at a pile of wrinkles?"  
"You'll always be sexy to me, Jongin-ah." 

 

_"When I touch someone, I kill."  
"When you touch me, you make me feel alive."_

 

They united for the first time under the moon.  
Jongin moaned, throwing his head back, his eyes rolling backwards.  
"You're so beautiful," Kyungsoo reminded him, kissing him for the umpteenth time.  
The younger panted, Kyungsoo making one with him in a thrust.  
"So... _warm_."  
Kyungsoo continued touching his flanks, Jongin shuddering.  
"You're so _warm, hyung_ ," he heaved, feeling hot all over.  
Their fingers were saying countless ' _I love you_ 's in an enthralling melody.  
Jongin put his legs around his lover's torso, hugging him with force while crying, his heartbeat in sync with Kyungsoo's.  
"I love you," Kyungsoo said, on the verge of tears himself.  
"I-I love you," Jongin hiccupped, caressing Kyungsoo's face.  
They came together, and they kissed all night long, comforting each other while cuddling. 

 

_"Why do you love me?"  
"Because you're fascinating."  
"Like your stories?"  
“Even more.”_


End file.
